Shade
by 0x0UnderDog0x0
Summary: Finding out you're a mutant is hard enough, but having to live with a behemoth of a man just to control said mutation? Shade doesn't really know how to take all of this in... OCxSabertooth/Victor lemons later on
1. Prologue

Prologue

I knew that something was wrong with me from the get-go. I mean, you don't exactly have to be a doctor to know I have some sort of condition that makes me different from everyone else; all you need is a pair of eyes and ears to figure out what kind of person I am. It's been that way—_I've_ been that way—since the third grade. It sucks.

I know that in life there's usually supposed to be that one weird, hyper kid that completely overlooks the cover and delves straight into the book simply because nobody else would. My life doesn't have that kid though. In fact, I don't think that they have that kid in all of Shade City.

I can't really pinpoint the thing that makes me seem so unapproachable, but I think that being named after the city doesn't help my case too much. I think that I would really like the name Shade if I lived anywhere _but_ Shade; I think that's what my parents were thinking when I was born.

Another thing that deems me unlikable would be my speech issues; I don't talk unless I really need to, like when introductions are being made or when someone's about to get hit by a car…I don't think those two are related in any way at all, so I don't know why I used them as an example, but you get my point. Anyways, when I do talk, I stutter, mumble, combine like three words into one, and spit a little. And it's all just because I get a little too nervous around people.

And yet another thing that makes me stand out would be my stature in general. I'm tall, weigh a little more than I should at my height, and my bone structure is wide. Mom says it's because I'm either German or Russian—I always get the two mixed no matter what—and dad says I was an Amazonian woman in another life. I think dad's more likely to be right since I kind of hate all of the guys at school and like watching sports that involve violence. Then again, I hate the girls at school too, and I'm pretty sure that people other than Amazonian women like kickboxing and rugby.

Speaking of kickboxing, next week is my birthday and my dad is taking me to Seattle to watch a couple fights, which will be amazing. He says that he got seats close enough for their sweat and blood to get on us, which will also be amazing. Mom doesn't think so though and isn't too happy that I'm going in the first place because she's kind of a hippie.

I asked my older brother, Ronnie who just turned twenty two, if he would come with Dad and me, but he can't because of some college stuff he had to do. He said that he would come down and visit me once he had time, though, and I'm more than glad to wait as long as he actually does come. My family is pretty close and I hope to God it'll stay that way.

They're all that I have.


	2. Chap 1: Happy Birthday

One

"Shade? Shade, honey, it's time to get up." I heard Mom say quietly.

I go through the routine of gasping, sitting up, pulling my hair from my face and making sure that I'm in my room as I usually do. I do this every time I get woken up, weather by an alarm clock, my mother, or the sound of raccoons going through our trash in the middle of the night. I'm wide awake instantly and know that I won't be able to go back to sleep now that I'm up. I look to Mom who looks concerned as she usually does when I wake up like this.

"You okay honey?"

I nod groggily and pull one of many colorful hair-ties off of the floor by my bed and throw my hair up in an attempt to tame it.

"Mom, why'd you wake me up? There's no school today." I try and sound as not annoyed as possible, but it's kind of hard when you're up before the sun is. Mom smiles and sits on the edge of the bed by my feet.

"I know honey, but we've got an early birthday present to give you. Get dressed and come downstairs."

I groan and lay back down, curling up in my warm nest.

"Why do I have to get dressed if it's just downstairs? Can I stay in my pj's?"

Mom gave a hesitant mumble, her hand rubbing circles on my back as she tried to convince me.

"Mom, _please_? I'm on my period and jeans suck."

"Oh, alright. But at least brush your hair and teeth; don't take too long, Dad's making pancakes and bacon."

I grinned into my pillow at the thought of Dad's fabulous pancakes and slightly burnt bacon. Mom left and I took a minute or two to let my eyes un-fog themselves before letting my hair down and brushing it. Watching me brush my hair always makes Mom and Dad flinch like they can feel some sort of pain that I don't—which makes no sense considering that Dad's bald—and I always shed on the furniture so I have to brush my hair in my room from now on. It takes twenty minutes to control my hair, which is quicker than usual, and five minutes to brush my teeth. I'm bouncing downstairs in a pair of butterfly shorts and a ripped up tank top in no time.

"Dad, you best have the whipped cream out for waking me up this—"I called just as I rounded the corner and stepped into the living room. I did what I do every time I come down those stairs and begin to look into every part of the house to make sure nothing was going to jump out and scare me, but stop as I see someone familiar standing in the middle of the living room and some huge guy sitting on the couch and I stare with my mouth hanging open.

"Ronnie?" I ask hopefully, watching as my big brother turns from talking to the huge guy and smiles at me. Then I sort of lose my shit and run up to squeeze him to death. He laughs and pats my head, which is very close to being taller than his, as he hugs me back.

"Hey squirt." He says and messes up my hair that took forever to brush. I grunt and pull away, wrapping my arm around the back of his neck and tugging him around playfully.

"Who're you calling squirt, short stuff?"

Mom and Dad came to the living room and smiled as Ronnie and I messed around, Dad in his stupid yet efficient "Kiss the Cook" apron and mom leaning against his side comfortably. Ronnie turned to Mom as he lifted me over his shoulder easily.

"Jesus Mom, what are you feeding this kid? She's growing like a damn weed!" He grunted as I squirmed on his shoulder. I stuck my finger in my mouth the rubbed it all over his ear, giggling in success when he let me go.

"Did you ever think that I'm not growing, but that you're shrinking, Scrawny Ronnie?" I teased. I heard a deep chuckle behind me and turned.

I'm an idiot. I forgot that the guy—excuse me, the _huge_ guy was sitting on the couch the whole time, just watching me and my brother be idiots. And I'm in my pajamas. That's not embarrassing or anything, nope, not at all.

"Scrawny Ronnie. I ain't heard that one before."

The man pushed himself up from the couch and I was surprised to see that he was almost seven feet tall. He was obviously built like a damn pyramid, had long blonde hair that was tied back, and his eyes were almost completely black. His mouth quirked up into a half smirk and I swear that I saw a fang peek out from under his lip. I don't know if I paled of social anxiety, or if it was because this guy was slightly scary.

"Aw, shut it Vic. Shade, this here is Victor; he's a drinking buddy of mine back in Vancouver. He hitched me a ride here since my bike couldn't handle the miles. Say hi." Ronnie introduced us happily and I decided that if this mammoth of a man was good friends with my brother, then he was ok in my book. Although I was slightly concerned that Ronnie went to bars often enough to have made "drinking buddies" there.

I reached out to shake his hand instead of verbally say hi because even though I knew it was rude, it seems that I've swallowed my tongue at the moment. Victor grinned down at me and shook my hand with a strong grip, his insane looking nails scratching at my skin lightly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss Shade." His voice sounded like a boot on gravel mixed with something nasty in the garbage disposal…except a little more attractive than how I'm describing it. I swallowed and smiled, still unable to talk. We stepped back to a comfortable distance while an uncomfortable silence took place in the room, Ronnie's hand resting on my shoulder and Mom and Dad still smiling in the doorway. Maybe I was the only one uncomfortable with this silence?

"Pancakes!" Dad suddenly exclaimed, raising his fist in the air. Mom and Ronnie plaid along and shouted "Pancakes!" and we all piled into the dining room, the Victor dude walking behind me. I know it might be rude to judge so quickly, but to be honest, even the weird hyper kid who reads the first book he sees wouldn't trust this big novel to not give him at the very least a paper cut. In other words, I didn't like having my back turned on this guy.

We all sat at the round table, Ronnie to my right and Victor to my left, while Mom served us our plates and drinks while dad finished up the bacon.

The first half of the meal is spent asking Ronnie a hundred questions a minute about Canada and how the ride here was and making a whole bunch of syrup and hockey jokes, which is all pretty fun. The second half of the meal was weird.

"Oh! Victor here is one of them mutant people, ain't you honey?" Mom says, leaning over the pile of powdered sugar on her plate. Victor looks up from his _fifth_ pancake, wipes his mouth, and nods. Dad raises an eyebrow and makes his weird "_hu_hhhh" sound that means he's interested and wants to hear more about something. Ronnie looks a little embarrassed that our parents are talking to his friend.

"Yeah, he's one of them furry ones, like an animal." Mom says incorrectly. I want to tell her that the animal related ones are called _ferals_ not furries, but Ronnie beets me to it, looking even more embarrassed. Furries are a _completely_ different thing.

Victor just sits back and watches as Mom tells Dad all about Victor's mutation, Ronnie corrects her when she says something ridiculous, and I pick at the edges of my pancake. I'm still on my first one, but I think I'll stop eating since it's getting cold. I already ate half of it though and two pieces of bacon, which is more than what I usually eat. I look up at the others, Mom, Dad, and Ronnie all engrossed in their own conversation about mutants, and see Victor looking down at me almost expectantly. His long nail, which makes a lot of sense now that I know he's a feral mutant, taps on the table and his dark eyes look from my plate to me. I think he wants me to eat more.

Hesitantly, I cut off a big piece, dip it in the syrup that I'd been previously playing in with my fork, and shove it all in my mouth. Victor smiles at this and makes some weird rumble in his chest that reminds me of the happy sound our cat makes when we scratch her butt. I awkwardly smile back and wipe my mouth on my napkin, wishing that I was wearing double what I had on. Victor looks away from me finally and at my mom.

"Speaking of mutants," his voice calls loudly over the others, catching their attention, "Ronnie didn't tell me Shade was one."

This is where the second half of the meal gets weird.

Everyone stops what they're doing, including me, and stares at Victor in confusion. Then they look at me and I feel my stomach drop with all of the attention. I hold up my hands innocently and shake my head.

"D-don't look at me, I h-have no idea what h-he's talking about." I stutter, trying not to slobber as I speak. All eyes turn back to Victor who looks just as confused as we do now.

"What makes you think she's a mutant?" Dad asks.

"I can smell it on her." They look back at me.

"S-some kids at s-school are…maybe you s-smell them?" They look back at him. It feels like a tennis match.

Victor leans forward on the table towards me and sniffs, then shakes his head.

"Nope; it's you alright. Plus, you're old man here is one, so it wouldn't be too hard to believe now would it?"

"Honey," Mom says, reaching across the table to take my hand, "why didn't you tell us?"

I'm starting to get a little outraged. This is like being accused of farting when both the fart's smell and sound was across the room…or something equally irritating.

"B-because there's nothing to tell! I'm not a m-mutant."

When Mom was about to argue with me, Victor intervened.

"It must still be dormant, then." He made it sound like it was the most obvious, non-concerning thing in the world when I was still confused and freaking out.

"What does that mean, dormant?" Dad asked and reached out to hold my other hand. I had half the mind to flick their hands off of mine and just go up in my room, away from this craziness. I might be a freak, but I am not a mutant; I'm as un-mutated as I could be.

"It means that her mutation, whatever it is, didn't take place when she hit puberty like it was supposed to. It's not uncommon, some people don't find out that they're mutants until they're in their late twenties, but it's not exactly healthy."

"Not healthy? What do you mean, will it hurt my baby?"

Mom tried to hold my hand tighter, but I pulled my arms back and hugged my middle, feeling a little sick. I don't like how they're talking about me like I'm not here, like Victor's a doctor that just told them I have cancer. Ronnie bumps his shoulder into mine and when I look up at him, I can't help but snort. He has a milk mustache and some powder sugar on his chin in the shape of a goatee, and he's crossing his eyes like an idiot. Mom hisses at him that this is serious and that I might be in danger. We both roll our eyes at her, even though I'm getting a little scared.

"It ain't exactly something easy to explain. I mean, I'm no doctor, but…let's put it like this. Developing a mutation is like cooking popcorn in a microwave. You want to get as many kernels cooked as you can, but if you cook it for too long then it'll catch on fire."

Mom looks paralyzed and Dad's just frowning. Ronnie whispers a joke about me being corny and Victor grins with his big canines down at me when I snort again.

"My babies gonna catch on fire?!" Mom screeches and then starts crying. I sigh and shake my head, my stomach doing flips and somersaults as breakfast tries to re-introduce itself to the world.

"W-we have to call someone, we have to get help! Doctor Adams, he'll know what to do!" Mom gets up to get her cellphone from the counter, but I literally leap from my chair and reach it before she even takes two steps, yelling "_No_!"

They're all looking at me again.

"We're not calling anybody." I say sternly.

"Shade, you could catch _on fire_!" Mom screams.

"It was a metaphor, Mother! The only way that I'd catch on fire is if one of those Friends Of Humanity assholes finds out that there might be a slight chance that my DNA isn't squeaky clean! In case you forgot, this stupid little town isn't exactly mutant-friendly, and I don't want anyone getting hurt just because fur-ball over there thinks I smell weird."

Mom walked towards me slowly, like I was an animal ready to strike, and reached out for the cell.

"Honey, I'm sure that nobody will try and hurt you if they found out. Give Mommy the phone." I stepped back even more.

"You're delusional if you think that nothing bad would happen when word gets out, Mom. This place is crawling with judgmental, Nazi assholes who want a perfect world with perfectly normal people. In fact, this place should be nuked because it's so bad."

"Shade, sweetie, let's not wish death upon people in front of guests."

"No Becky, Shade's right." Dad sighed. "This is something that we'll need to figure out and take care of on our own."

Mom looked helpless and ready to start crying. It kind of broke my heart.

"But…doctor Adams…"

Dad hugged Mom from behind.

"He's part of that FOH group too, honey. He even invited us to join a meeting once, remember?"

Mom said that she needed to lie down and think about things, Dad told Victor that he might have to stay around and help us out with this since we're clueless and he has like two hundred years of life experience, and Ronnie helped me clean up the table. Victor was still sitting at the table.

"So," Ronnie sighed beside me, "happy seventeenth birthday I guess."

I laugh without humor and shake my head.

"Yup; each year keeps getting better than the next. It'll be hard to top this one though."

"Can't deny that." He looked over at me and back down to the plate he was drying. "How are you holding up, kiddo?"

I shrug.

"I don't know. I'm not really that surprised I guess."

Ronnie raises an eyebrow at me.

"What, you mean you thought you were a mutant?"

"No, I mean I knew I was a freak; I just didn't know I was a freak all the way down to my cellular structure. I guess I should have seen it coming though; dad's a mutant, why wouldn't one of us be?"

"What's your old man's mutation?" Victor asked. He was leaning against the sink as he listened in.

"It's nothing too awesome." Ronnie said. I snorted and gave him a look.

"Of course it's awesome, you dickwad. Thanks to Dad we got to sneak in snacks into movie theaters and play pranks on people when we were kids." Ronnie rolled his eyes at me and looked at Victor to explain.

"Dad can make people not see, smell, hear, or feel certain stuff."

"And taste, too. How else would he get us to eat healthy?"

Victor chuckled and crossed his arms as we finished cleaning. My eyes fell to the claws on his hand, observing them for maybe a second too long, before looking down at my own nails. Would I be feral too? Or would I be like Dad? Maybe I'll get to read people's minds or fly around. Then I looked up at Ronnie curiously.

"You're not one too, are you? Cuz if you are and didn't tell me, I'll kick your ass."

Ronnie chuckled and told me that no, he wasn't one too, and that I was pretty scary for a sixteen year old girl. I told him that I could say the same thing about him and Victor laughed so loud that I almost peed myself, and I think that I earned his approval/respect right then and there. After that Ronnie suggested that we all go sit in the living room so he could question me about my school year and Victor could get to know me better. I have a feeling that I'll be seeing a lot more of him.

Victor found out that I'm the opposite of a social butterfly, that I enjoy violence on a somewhat unhealthy level (like him), that I love music and books, and that it's difficult for me to eat food. I don't know why it's like that; when I eat I just feel like I'm going to puke it back up, and there had been a couple times where I did end up vomiting, so I try not to eat too much. He said that my mutation might be affecting my diet and that I need to find foods that agree with me, no matter what they were.

I found out that Victor doesn't have the patients to be a socialite, that his life and entire being is dedicated to violence (and that he's un-bashfully truthful about himself) he likes silence and hunting, he's richer than rich, and that he's a murderer. For some reason, this was okay with both Ronnie and I.

The guy was two hundred years old, at least, he'd been in multiple wars which most likely caused some mental damage, and if we thought mutant haters were bad today then we knew nothing about what they were like two hundred years ago when women were drowned to see if they were witches or not. I can't really blame or question the guy for popping a few heads off—I knew if I was able to do so and get away with it then I'd do the same thing—that didn't mean that I felt calm around him. I admit that I'll probably be on edge for the next few days with him around.

Him and Ronnie are staying in a cheap hotel down the road for a month. Victor had planned on staying for a couple days, but now that all of this shit with me went down, he wants to help out. I can't fathom why he would want to do such a thing when he could be off killing Bambi's mom back in Canada's forests.

After a while of talking Victor decided that he wanted to have a say in what plan of action my parents were going to take and made his way upstairs, leaving Ronnie and I alone. The conversation only lasted another five minutes before we were wrestling around again, teasing and challenging each other.

Mom, Dad, and Vic all came back downstairs when it was time for lunch to find Ronnie and I playing videogames, cursing at each other and the TV.

"Children, if you could stop cursing and turn off all electronics at this time then that would be great." Mom said in her Mother voice, the voice that she uses when we break something or hurt each other badly.

We're quick to do as she asks, turning off the TV, our cellphones, and scooting down the couch so Dad could sit next to me while Mom paced in front of us. Victor kind of stood off in the background with a beer in his hand and an unlit cigar hanging from his lips. Other than the big fur ball though, this was how family talks usually went; Ronnie and I being talked to in a very serious manner by Mom while Dad sat next to us and nodded his head quietly.

It took me a minute for it to sink in. I didn't want to have this conversation. I didn't want to deal with being a mutant, with being even weirder than before. Why couldn't I just stay the way I was now? I should at least be able to wait it out, see how long I could go before the shit hits the fan. Victor said that he knew people who didn't get it until their late twenties, so we all knew that I had at least until then. Besides, what the hell did they think they could do to fix this anyways?

"We're going to have to jumpstart your mutation Shade."

Great. Now I'm a car with a dead battery; what were they going to do, hook Victor's nipples up to mine with a wire and hope that his mighty mutation would rub off on me? No. No, my nipples are staying under my shirt, where I know they'll be safe.

"How?" I ask.

Mom bites her nails in thought, still pacing and staring at the floor ahead of her.

"There are a few ways we can do this, some more dangerous than others, all of which are up to you, but that isn't what we need to really worry about. What we need to worry about is what happens afterwards."

I frown at her and sit up a little more, both intrigued and unhappy.

"I disagree with that."

Dad bumped me and hissed "Listen to your mother." Mom apparently didn't hear me and continued onwards.

"Victor has made us aware of three options to choose from. The first and most appealing option is for you to go to a school for mutants. We're not allowed to know where it is or anything since it's all hush-hush due to the FOH, but you'll be allowed to visit us when you want. They provide as much food as you need, a bedroom with a bathroom of your own, and classes that you'd get at high school now along with more mutant-based informal classes. Thankfully its free and they accept anyone who's willing to follow the rules; that's the first option. The second option is—"

"I still would like to know how we're going to "jump-start" my super-duper powers." I interrupt rudely with a sarcastic bite. Mom gives me a look that reminds me why I try not to piss her off and continues once more without answering me.

"The second option is that a man named Erik Lehnsherr will watch over you—"

"No." I shoot it down instantly. I knew enough about that man to know better. "He's no better than those FOH bastards and wouldn't know how to teach anything without adding his own opinions and facts. Besides, he's a killer and wouldn't let me see either of you ever again, even if Dad is a mutant. It'd probably be a safer bet to let me live with fur ball over there." I say with an air of humor, looking over at the man himself to see him giving me a smirk. I think that I said the right thing, because he looks impressed and Mom and Dad looked relieved.

"It's funny that you'd say that." Mom says with a smile. "Because that's option three."

She let that sink into my brain for a minute.

"He has a big cabin in Canada, smack dab in the woods which is a good thing since he thinks you'll be feral like him. At least, you smell like you will be. You could visit Ronnie more than once a year, and Victor says it snows a lot where he lives, so you'll love that. He'll hunt for food, teach you what he knows to the best of his abilities, and who knows…after living with such an intimidating guy after a while, you might not be as nervous around other, _smaller_, people."

She looked hopeful. She wanted me to live with a man that she just met. This morning.

At first all I could do was blink at Mom. Then at Dad. Then at Victor. Now I'm just staring at my hands and weighing my options. Nobody's saying anything, no one wants to influence my decision at all; in case you haven't noticed yet, but we're a very nonjudgmental, very free-willed household that supports any decisions made even if we disagree. It's not like that all the time of course; Ronnie flipped his shit when I got my belly button pierced and Dad almost had a conniption when I got a tattoo on my hip, all of which happened in the span on one rebellious year. Mom's always been there to compliment and approve of things though, as long as it wasn't life-threatening. She's always there no matter what.

Sometimes I wish my family wasn't like this though. I wish that I got grounded for reading a whole book in one night instead of doing my homework, or that I got banned from the scarf that I've gotten so oddly attached to over the years. It might be why my mutation has stayed hidden this whole time since my body and brain both know that I'd have no clue what to do with myself if my limits were pushed away from me even farther than they already were. Maybe I would make better decisions if my actions were steered in one direction instead of having a whole map shoved at me and told to figure it out for myself. Maybe that's why I stutter and trip over my own feet; I have so many options and possibilities that I don't know what to do with myself.

Maybe I wouldn't want to do something unjustified and crazy, like live with a hairy murderer, rather than stay at a place of learning with kids that are my age who might be facing the same problems that I am.

After what felt like an hour of quiet thinking, I look up at Mom who's so anxious that she's vibrating where she stands. One intimidating man who could kill me in seconds vs. a shit load of kids who would expect me to talk.

My eyes meet with Victor's smug ones. He already knows my answer.

"When do I move in?"


	3. Chap 2: Let's Eat

Two

It seems that everyone was elated with my choice, which bugged me a little. Why were they so trusting of this guy? He certainly didn't have an air of reassurance or comfort about him, and I'm pretty sure that they haven't met him before or anything, other than Ronnie anyways. You'd think that parents would want their kid to go live in a school, not a log cabin. I had a feeling that something weird was going on, but didn't say anything about it. I might just be thinking weird since a lot of stuff's happened in the span of six or so hours.

"Are you sure honey? You don't have to choose right this second; you can have a day or two to think about it if you need."

I shrug and stand from the couch, stretching with a yawn.

"I've thought about it. I've decided. Now I would like to get dressed and eat some lunch."

"Oh. Well, alright then; go get cleaned up and we'll all head out to eat." Mom says happily.

"Ok."

As I make my way up the stairs I realize that I'd stopped stuttering in front of Victor. When did that happen? I guess that I've gotten used to him by now, which is a good thing since we're going to be roomies for a long while. Or should be anyways; we agreed that I'd stay here up until the fight that we'll go see on my birthday and within that time Victor will be tested, I guess, to see if it's appropriate for me to stay with him. Turns out that he and Ronnie are going to the fight with Dad and me.

It's been raining more often than not as of late so I pick a pair of skinny jeans, a blank t-shirt, and a sweatshirt with my school's logo on it. My school may be the root of all evil, but _damn_ did they make comfy sweatshirts. I bring the clothes into the bathroom which is, sadly, bigger than my bedroom, lock the door, turn on the water-proof radio, and strip.

For some reason I have this paranoia of taking up all of the hot water before someone else takes a shower, so I always wash up too quickly to actually enjoy the shower. And I usually end up getting soap in my eye, cutting myself while shaving, or slipping and bruising myself majorly. I'm in and out of the shower within ten minutes, I get dressed, blow-dry my hair—drying my hair always takes a ridiculously long amount of time so I usually leave it wet and tangled—turn off the radio, and am ready to go.

Before I go back downstairs though I quickly grab my scarf and wrap it around my neck. It's an old and tattered scarf that's black with plum-colored dots on it. It doesn't match my grey sweatshirt or blue jeans, but I guess it kind of matches my black converse.

I hear laughter coming from the kitchen and wonder if I was missing something good as I walk in. The laughter dies down as I make my presents, and my scarf's, known and I blush as I'm given expressions of poorly hidden disappointment. I'm sad to say that I was expecting this. Ronnie doesn't even try to hide his lack of approval though, and the only one who's not giving me _that_ look is Victor, so I try to keep my eyes on him as un-awkwardly as possible.

"I see you still wear that damn thing." Ronnie grumbles. I squirm where I stand, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin and ashamed of this stupid scarf. That doesn't mean that I'll take it off. Mom gives him a sharp look and Dad tells him to just shut up and get in the car. Victor is slightly confused.

"Shade, just take it off and leave it here. You don't need the stupid thing and you know it, so just throw it away, _please_." Ronnie pleads with me.

I quickly shake my head "no" and step back, pulling the scarf up higher and over my mouth. I don't want to talk. Mom slaps Ronnie's arm and starts pushing him out the back door, Dad looking ready to smack him even though I know that he thinks the same thing, and Victor is eyeing my scarf.

I'm not leaving it home and I'm not talking.

"Ignore him, Shade. He's just jealous of your fabulous scarf. Now come on, time to go eat." Dad wraps his arm around me and leads me out the back door. Victor walks behind me again.

"Hey," he says quietly, "what's with everyone hating the scarf?"

I didn't see Ronnie standing outside by the backdoor, so I jump a little when he speaks up.

"Don't bother asking; she doesn't acknowledge the outside world when she wears it."

Dad smacks my brother on the back of his head really hard and I feel like a little kid that wants to hide behind their daddy's leg. Except I'd have to sit on the ground to do that, and I'm taller than Dad, so I have to hide behind my scarf even more. Mom, Dad and I all get into our car while Ronnie rides with Victor in his big old suburban that looks like it could _eat_ our car.

I don't blame Ronnie or get angry at him. I do feel a little embarrassed, and guilty that he's embarrassed of me, but I can see why he gets upset about it. This scarf has been wrapped around my neck each time we go out in public for the last eight years of my life, no matter how many carefully-worded lectures I'd had, no matter how many counselors or teachers tried to coax me out of it, and no matter how many times Ronnie has glared at it. I think he doesn't like that I feel the need to use a piece of cloth to be alright with going out in public. He thinks that _he_ should make me feel confident and protected; not a scarf. Dad was right.

Ronnie is jealous.

We meet the guys in the Applebee's parking lot at the same time and I wipe my face to make sure there aren't any tears. Sometimes I cry without knowing it, and I guess I was doing it again because my hand came back wet and my nose was a little runny. I'll just tell them it's allergies if they ask.

I quickly pull all of my hair over my shoulder and braid it as we park, not wanting to get it in my food, but Mom says that it's lopsided and bumpy so she braids it really quick when we get out of the car. The guys come over to see what's up and Dad gives them a funny look, grumbling "women" as if that explained why Mom was doing my hair at the last minute. I look at Victor's long blond mane and wonder if he sometimes braids his hair. I consider asking him later.

"Alright, who's ready for some food?" Dad asks, leading the way inside. The others say something about how hungry they are and that their meals tastes awesome and is cheap and Mom reminds Dad of how they used to give Ronnie and I balloons on the way out that we'd always pop in the car. I yawn.

It takes me a minute, but I come to notice that I'm not hungry. At all. I sigh under my scarf and take Mom's hand. Is it because of my mutation? Do I have to eat some special food? Victor thinks that I'll be feral like him; do I have to eat animals that are so raw and bloody that they might as well still be alive? Maybe I just don't eat food at all.

We get one of those big corner booths that wraps halfway around the table. Dad sits on the very right, then Mom, then me, then Ronnie, then Victor at the very left. Ronnie doesn't want to sit next to me, but he doesn't say so. Everyone opens up the big laminated menu that they got except for me. I already know what I want; some mozzarella sticks and a mountain dew. Mom won't eat all of her French fries so I might have a few of those.

After everyone's chosen we go through the customary act of asking what everyone's getting. I'm pretty sure everyone does this when they eat out, but by the irritated, uncomfortable look on Victor's face I have a feeling that he doesn't eat out too much.

"Shade, what are you getting?" Mom asks.

I open my menu and point at the sticks and pop and she bobs her head.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else, sweetie?" I nod my head. "Alright then, I'll order for you."

"Why should you?" Ronnie pipes up. "She can talk just fine; she can order her own food."

"Ronnie James, if you don't shut your mouth right now I will kick your ass." Dad growls angrily. My throat closes up and my stomach really doesn't want any food at all, but I have to get something or Ronnie will just have another thing to yell at me about. My arms are itching and tickling so I hug them close to my stomach. Another mutant thing maybe?

"Dad, don't you see you're just making it worse by babying her?" Ronnie hisses back.

"You're not exactly helping either, Ronnie." Mom leans forward on the table so she can snap at my brother.

I swallow and look around at the other occupants of the restaurant, blushing as I realize some keep on looking at us. My family isn't exactly screaming at each other, just hissing and whispering violently enough to attract the attention of others. We've also gotten the attention of the guy who seated us.

"Are we ready to order, folks?" He's polite and has his little pad and pen out. Mom, Dad, and Ronnie don't hear him; I do. Victor does.

I push my scarf down and sit up straighter, trying to swim out of the sea of argument, and order for myself.

"I would like some, um, mozzarella s-sticks and a m-mount-tain dew. Please." My voice cracks three times, I get a little spit on my scarf, and my stomach is upset enough that I don't think I'll even eat what I ordered. But I did it and it shut everyone up, so I get to hide under my scarf now, no matter what Ronnie says.

Our waiter guy looks like he pities whatever speech impediment he thinks I have and writes my order down on his pad. The others are all looking at me a little dazed, Ronnie a little guilty and Dad ready to shoot someone, but Victor just has an amused look on his hairy face and orders something meaty and rare for himself with "absolutely nothing green on my plate. I don't eat rabbit food." By then the others have composed themselves and order, eyes continuously flicking over to me.

I don't know what they expect me to do; am I supposed to feint from the exertion and strain of talking to someone that I don't know? They probably think that I'll start crying or want to go sit in the car for the rest of the meal. I hope they don't think that I'll speak for myself from now on or suddenly make a butt-load of friends at school on Monday.

My family doesn't seem to understand what gray areas are, or that there's something awesome called "middle ground" which I happen to stand on. They want me to either not talk at all ever and be ok with it, or talk perfectly fine to anyone I see and be wonderfully happy with it. The thing is, I can talk when I feel the need to do so.

If I want to ask the lunch lady at school for something, then I'll ask. It might not be normal sounding like how the other kids talk, but I can do it. I just don't want to talk for myself if I don't _absolutely have to_; like when we're ordering food at a restaurant. I would rather have my Mom order for me instead of embarrass myself and the other people that I'm eating with by stuttering and spitting everywhere.

If only I could tell them all of this.

They've started up a quiet, awkward, trying-too-hard conversation about football when our drinks have arrived. I sip on mine for a minute, but it tastes a little gross, so I just blow bubbles instead. I stop and look at Victor, the only person at the table that I feel like tolerating, and see that he stuck a straw in his beer and is blowing bubbles too.

Have you ever seen a six foot ten man, covered in hair, who looks like he could lift a mac truck over his head, _daintily_ sip from a beer through a straw? It's the most ridiculous thing you've ever seen if you have witnessed it.

I grin and laugh quietly behind my scarf. He winks at me and takes the straw out before the others see and chugs it like a manly man, belching loudly once he finished it. Mom laughs at him and Ronnie says "nice one" and I lightly applaud him.

"Oh, don't drink too much if you're driving, honey. We wouldn't want either of you dead, now would we?" Mom asks.

Victor chuckles deeply and corrects her.

"Actually, I can't get drunk or killed, so no need to worry there."

"Yeah, this guy here," Ronnie pats Victor's back, "he's like the most reliable designated driver in the world."

Victor laughs without humor and pats my brother back, but hard enough to almost knock the wind out of him.

"That doesn't mean that I'll be driving your drunken ass around all the time, pal."

They all laugh. I tuned out of the conversation and pulled my knees up to my chest, feeling tired. My sleeping schedule is weird; I'm always tired at day and too anxious to sleep at night. Another mutation thing maybe? I give my head a little shake and try not to think about the M word or anything related to it again.

Our food comes and I stare at my plate. It looks like something I'd like. It smells pretty good. I take a bite, chew, swallow, and gag loud enough for Mom to rub my back and ask if I'm ok. I nod, managing to not puke, and rest my head on her shoulder. I just want to sleep. I don't like the Christian music that they're playing; I should have brought my IPod.

I eat two sticks and drink more than half of my pop before everyone else finishes, accidentally falling asleep against Mom's shoulder twice.

"Are you sure you don't want to finish it?" Mom asks. "Don't you at least want to take it home in case you get hungry again?"

I look up at her with tired eyes and murmur through my scarf.

"I won't get hungry again."

She nods, we pay for the bill, and leave. We don't get a balloon like we used to.

When we get home it's around two in the afternoon and Mom says she needs to do some shopping. Dad decides that he needs to call the schools and anyone else who's "important" like that to tell them that I'll be homeschooled by my uncle Victor in Canada from now on. Ronnie is still grumpy about how much of a prick he was being and I just want to take a nap, so I go straight to my room and read a book until I fall asleep.

When I wake up and do that whole gasp-and-scout-out-the-area thing, I see Victor standing over me with his eyebrow raised. I frown.

"Why're you in my room?" My voice sounds funny since I just woke up.

"The old man made dinner and wanted to know if you could stomach it." He grumbles.

I groan and roll over, sick and tired of food, and pick up the book I'd been reading. A few of the pages had dried drool on them from the other times I'd fallen asleep while reading. I feel the bed dip behind me and a clawed hand reached out to snatch the book from me.

"Hey!" I face Victor who's reading the cover with interest.

"You like Stephen King?" He asks.

"No, I just have this bad habit of reading books that I don't like." I bite at him and snatch my book back from him and put it on my bookshelf.

"Ooh ho," Victor laughs, sounding smug for some reason, "somebody's a smartass."

I huff and cross my arms, sitting up against my headboard.

"Your mother's a smartass."

And then someone, somewhere in the world, flipped a switch. His fist wraps around the collar of my sweatshirt and yanks me to him so my nose is touching his. He glares at me with his dark eyes and sneers with his fangs on display.

"You really think it was a good idea to say that?" He growls.

"No sir." I whimper. My body's stiff with fear and I feel that itching on my arms again. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

He pushes me back and lets me go with a huff. I catch myself just before I hit the headboard and watch the predator as he stands and looks at my collection of books.

"Guess I'm not so smart for a smartass." I chuckle nervously. He snorts and pulls out a book to read the back of it.

"You read all of these?"

"Yeah, a few times actually."

He grunts in response and moves on to my box of CDs. I don't think that he knows a lot of them since he doesn't look like a guy who'd appreciate the groovy tunes of the seventies. His eyes look up at me, but his head stays tilted down slightly. It's a creepy look.

"You actually like this crap?"

I was about to say another smartass thing, then just decided to nod instead. Victor picks a CD, pops it into my player, and lies down next to me, getting comfortable. Barracuda by Heart started playing. Why is he still in my room?

"We should probably go eat now…"

"I ain't hungry." He put his hands behind his head and looked up at me. I sigh and lay down too, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars that have been stuck to the ceiling since I was eight. We listen to the music in silence for a while.

"I fucking hate this song." Victor grumbles.

"Then why did you pick it?"

"Wanted to see if you'd sing along with it."

I frown and turn my head to look at him.

"Why do you want to hear me sing?"

"I heard you singing in the shower. Not too shabby."

I blushed and looked back up at the ceiling.

"Oh."

Sweet Jane came on once Barracuda finished. This must be the mix CD Ronnie made for me on my tenth birthday. I nodded my head to it, but didn't sing. I think it irritated Victor to listen to music he doesn't like just in case I might want to sing to it.

"What do you…_do_ up here?" It sounded awkward the way he said it, like he'd never asked such a thing before. I thought about it for a second and was disappointed once I found that there really wasn't much that I did.

"Watch movies, read books, listen to music…uh, clean…"

"Sounds boring."

I sigh and grab a pillow that'd fallen on the floor to hug.

"Yeah."

Lola by the Kinks came on and I had to smile, deciding that this was a song worth singing.

"Well I'm not the world's most physical guy, but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine, oh my Lola. La la la la Lola. Well I'm not dumb, but I can't understand why she walked like a woman and talked like a man, oh my Lola…"

Victor looked down at me after I sang a few more lines and I grinned up at him.

"Is this a song about a cross dresser?"

I scoffed and hit him in the stomach with the pillow.

"_No_. It's clearly a song about true love."

He chuckled and shook his head. I finished singing the song and looked back up at Victor, getting some of his hair in my face, and remembered a question that I wanted to ask him.

"Do you ever braid your hair?"

Tensing, the beastly man looked down at me with a big frown on his face. I had to ask myself if that question was offensive or not; apparently Victor thought so.

"Do I _look_ like I braid my hair?" He growled.

I bit my lip and squinted at him in thought. It was hard imagining him with braids, and when I did I couldn't do anything to help the shit-eating grin that spread across my face. He could make a very impressive Viking, if only it weren't for the modern-day clothes he wore. In that case, he just looked like a very strange/confused man with braids in his hair.

"The fuck are you smiling at?"

I shrugged and reached out to grab a lock of his hair and started braiding it. He looked at me like I was crazy, but didn't push my hand away. I started to hum again and rolled on my side so I could braid his hair better.

"Unless you're going to braid or curl your hair, I think that you should get it cut. And maybe shave a little too; I can still see some steak in your beard thingy."

He rubbed his hand through his facial hair and corrected me.

"They're called mutton chops."

I snorted and blushed a little. "I thought that they were called muskets."

"You're a weird kid." He said.

I took a deep breath.

"I get that a lot."

I got him to laugh deep in his chest and grinned to myself for a second, until I remembered something else that I wanted to ask him. I sat up and looked down at him. He gave me a weary, curious look.

"What?"

"Mom didn't tell me how we're going to trigger my mutation."

Getting a look of understanding on his face, he started to sit up, but I denied him that action by sitting on his stomach and pushed down on his chest, glaring down at him as he sputtered in surprise.

"No; you're staying here until I get answers."

Victor gave me a cocky smirk as he lay back again.

"You know, I could throw you across the room if I wanted to."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I know that Victor, I'm not blind. I mean look at you, you could through an _elephant_ across the room if you wanted."

"Well I'm flattered that you think so."

"I call them as I see them. Now tell me."

"I think I kind of want you to make me."

I didn't know what to say to that. I was drawing a blank here, glaring down at him and quirking my mouth a little in thought. Then I grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands out from under his head, pinning them to the bed and making his head fall back a little. My cheeks grew red in how bold the both of us were suddenly being. I leaned in close, a bit too close probably, and gave him my best poker face. Again, he looked a little caught off guard.

"Tell me right now or I'll tell Dad that you touched me."

Victor surprised me back by leaning his head up so our noses were rubbing and our lips were almost touching. Scratch that; his chapped lips rubbed against mine as he whispered to me.

"If that's the case then, I guess I might as well do so anyways."

I scoffed, but refused to back down.

"You're sick."

"I get that a lot."

I hate how calm he sounded as he repeated what I said. I squeezed his wrists hard, digging my nails in.

"Just fracking tell me!"

"Why don't you go ask your mother?"

"Because she'd have told me by now if it wasn't something bad! And since it _is_ something bad, she'll sugar coat it, but I know that you'll tell me the truth so just _please_ tell me."

Somehow, for some reason, I went from growling to pleading within a second, and I didn't like how it made me sound. Victor looked like he considered telling me, and even opened his mouth to speak, and got interrupted by Mom calling for us to get down there before our food got cold.

"Be down in a minute!" I yelled back, eyes staying locked on my target.

"Don't think this is over, furball." I growl at him.

Victor pushed up and pressed his lips fully against mine. He didn't move or bite or lick or anything; just held his lips against mine long enough for me to process what was happening and remember that this was called a kiss.

Am I having my first kiss with a guy who belongs in one of those beef jerky Don't Mess With Sasquatch commercials? Oh God, I am, and he's like quadruple times the age that my grandpa is! Do I like it? I don't know, there really isn't much to like, he's not moving. Am _I_ supposed to move? Is it considered kissing back if I do? Wait, then that means that he's kissing me, and I'm not kissing him…which is good. I don't want to kiss him. Do I? Wait, what song did I just have my first kiss to? Baba O'Riley by The Who. I like this song; it's a good song to kiss to.

He pulls back and searches my eyes for something, I'm not sure what though, then he gives me a peck on the lips again, carefully rolls me off of him with an ease that embarrasses me, and then goes to leave. He stops by the door though and looks back at me with a smirk while I just lay there in a daze.

"It's not even close to over, weirdo."


	4. Chap 3: Surprise Visit

Three

We're all eating at the dinner table together for once and it's kind of a big meal. There's steak, potatoes, salad, green beans, peas, corn on the cob, and some noodles with Alfredo sauce. I feel guilty because my plate has one of each and I'll be lucky if I eat a spoonful of each. I also feel nervous and just plain confused because my plate is in between Ronnie's and Victor's. This is uncharted territory and I spent all of my confidence and energy in trying—and failing horribly—to get Victor to tell me what the hell they were going to trigger my mutation with.

I knew for sure that it couldn't be anything good; I had asked Mom twice in one go during her lecture and she'd avoided answering. I can't think of any other reason for her to not give me an answer other than she didn't want to deal with it until she absolutely had to, which was a big hint that it wasn't something pleasant. I mean, this was Mom; she gave me the sex talk like it was a walk in the park, even cracking jokes as she did so. It took a lot to shake her.

At the sound of scraping forks, light conversation, and glasses clumping against the wooden table top, I decided to focus on having a nice dinner instead of anything related to the M word.

Right, because that worked out so well the first time. Whatever.

I speared one tiny green ball on my fork and held it up to my face, staring at it. I never really liked peas in the first place, but I had a feeling that this one would be particularly hard to get down. I'm not sure how long I stared at it, but apparently I looked just long enough to get the attention of Victor. He must look at me a lot or something, because he's starting to notice a lot of the weird stuff I do.

Bumping my side lightly with his elbow as he dug into his steak, Victor kept his eyes on his plate and let his knee press against mine. I scoot over closer to Ronnie, hoping that Victor was bumping me because he needed more room, and Ronnie looks down at me like I'm weird. Is he still mad at me? Does he still feel guilty? I don't know, but I scoot back over to Victor, feeling like I'd rather deal with him rather than my own brother.

I finally take a bite.

The pea goes down my throat like a pill and I think my nervous swallow is loud enough that it's worthy of being in a horror movie. You know, one where a guy's being threatened with a weapon at his throat and swallows loudly, or some dumb chick is hiding really close to the bad guy, swallows loudly, and gets caught. We watch those kinds of movies all the time.

I feel a hand on the middle of my back just as I'm about to eat a tiny square of steak. It's probably Ronnie trying to make up for being an ass, so I don't do anything about it other than lean back against it a little more. I eat the tiny chunk of steak and am able to stomach it successfully.

The hand rubs up and down my back almost encouragingly as I eat more than I thought I could and I listen in on a gossipy conversation about the drama that goes on in our large family. I'm more than proud to say that I ate everything but the salad and noodles without barfing. The adults are drunk by the end of the meal, at least the ones who _can_ get drunk, and we decide to start closing up shop.

"Alrighty you two, drive safely now!" Mom waves goodbye at Victor and Ronnie as they stumble down the front steps. Dad hugs Mom to his side with a big goofy smile on his face, the three of us standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, and hey, don't forget to visit tomorrow Vic. We've got a bit to talk over."

I don't really get why, but Dad winked and nodded at Victor who chuckled and pulled my brother inside of his truck. We stood there until they drove away, then we went back inside and closed the front door.

"Well, it's uh," Dad mumbled, "it's about that time, right honey?" He was staring right at Mom as he said this, and I winced slightly grossed out. Mom giggled and nodded, leaning into dad enough to make him stumble just a bit.

"Ugh, alright, I get it. I'll go to bed, just stop being…ugh." I scoffed once more and ran up to my room, wanting to get away from the endless amounts of PDA going on downstairs. I made sure I closed my door all the way; I'm glad that my parents have a great marriage, but that doesn't mean I want to hear them as they "present their feelings to one another". That's what Mom called it when we had the sex talk. It was cringe-worthy.

I changed into some pajamas, turned on my stereo, and grabbed a random book off of my shelf. I've read all of my books—all thirty of them—at least twice, and while they weren't all too great, re-reading one of them was still better than doing nothing.

It was right around the third chapter though that I realized something weird; a few weeks ago I had stopped needing my glasses to read. My eyesight had randomly gotten better, but now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't so random. And, going back even further, I had lost a lot of weight recently. Sure, it could be my lack of eating regularly, though I doubt that defined calves or a four-pack come with weight-loss. Why hadn't I noticed this sooner? Maybe my mutation was already starting to show itself. In that case I wouldn't need to do whatever thing that was supposed to kick it into gear!

I excitedly ran from my room and downstairs to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on any lights as I went, and almost ran into the fridge as I looked for the number that Victor had left magnetized to it. I needed to call him, not only to let him know about my discovery, but also to tell him to shove it. Snagging his number from the fridge, I turned to the counter where our house-phone was—the only electronics I'm allowed to personally own are my CD player and my IPod; everything else is shared with the rest of the household. Half-way through my turn though I see in the corner of my eye something big and ominous right where I'm wanting to go and, before I really process what I'm supposed to do in this situation, I tensed.

My lips parted only slightly and a hiss of air angrily left my mouth. The paper fell from my hands as my fingers curled angrily and my knees bent just slightly. Then, thoughtlessly, I sprung myself at the intruder, wrapping my legs around his middle and my hands instantly scraped down his face angrily. How my thighs were suddenly strong enough to hold me up was beyond my knowledge, along with why I was "attacking" this person rather than running and screaming for my dad to grab his gun. I didn't stay attached for long though as the man wrapped his hands around my waist and threw me off of him and into the fridge, ridding me of himself as if I were a measly fly.

My back slammed into the metal of the fridge, making it sway precariously back and forth, and I slid down to the floor. As I sat there I tried to stand and catch my breath and find the courage to fight again all at once, but no progress was made whatsoever. When the lights flicked on and blinded me for a split second I looked up at whoever had broken into my home and tried not to let my jaw hit the floor.

"Victor?!" What was meant to come out as an infuriated screech really just sounded like a dying asthmatic trying to be accusing. Trying to talk after having the wind knocked out of you was, apparently, painfully difficult.

"Shade." He greeted me calmly.

Victor stood a few feet away, looking the same as when he left a few hours ago, staring down at me as if I hadn't just tried to claw his eyes out.

"What the…h-hell…" I panted and winced, holding a hand to my chest as my lungs fought to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do. "W-why are…"

"Don't talk until you can breathe." Victor advised as he found a glass and filled it with water. He walked over to me in his big army boots and knelt down next to me. A clawed hand held out the glass patiently while the other rubbed my back encouragingly.

"Didn't mean to throw you so hard." He grumbled. Was that supposed to be an apology? If so, then where was the one for breaking into our home? Or the one for almost giving me a damn heart attack?

I took a drink of water when I got my breath back and leant my head against the cool metal of the fridge with my eyes closed. Remain calm, don't freak out, just…talk.

"You know, normal people would usually call before coming over."

"Who told you I was normal?" The grin was evident in his voice. I opened my eyes and glared at him. I thought that it was the teenager that was supposed to be irritatingly sarcastic and the adult that lost their patients, not the other way around.

"Besides, you were going to call me over anyways." He held up his phone number pinched between his claws before moving to put it back on the fridge. I sighed and shook my head, sitting up straighter.

"I was calling to tell you something, but now I can't remember what."

"Let me know when you do remember." Victor muttered.

"Why are you here Victor?"

"I thought you might want to talk."

"Again; you could have just called."

"Didn't feel like it. By the way, what the hell were you thinking jumping on me like that? What were you going to do, scratch me to death? I could have killed you in a heartbeat if I wanted."

I scoffed offended and reared back a bit.

"Whatever, I could have killed you too!" I said lamely. Victor raised an eyebrow before laughing heartily. Then he looked down at me the way an adult would at a naïve child.

"Sweetie, you would have broken a nail before you broke my skin." He stood straight and offered me a hand up. Still irritated I ignored him and began walking to my room, Victor following behind me. I heard him mutter something like "definitely feral" under his breath, other than that we climbed the stairs and walked into my room in silence. I turned the stereo down a bit and sat on my bed, staring at Victor expectantly.

To be honest he looked completely out of place in my room. I mean, the guy's head almost touched the ceiling, of course he didn't really fit in. Now that I think about it, the only place he looks like he could really belong would be a bar. Trying to think of him being anywhere else was as difficult yet as amusing as thinking of him with braided hair.

I give my head a slight shake, reminding myself not to get distracted.

"Talk." I order.

Victor glares and gets in my face, clearly unhappy.

"You're pushing it little girl." He growls.

"You broke into my house," I remind him. "I'm pretty sure I get to be sassy."

Victor looks at me blankly before taking the chair from my desk and sits on it backwards with his arms crossed on the backrest. He takes a deep breath before starting, making his wide chest expand and compress. I totally didn't take note of his huge pecks.

"Originally, there were maybe five or six options to kicking your mutation into gear, which would generally be done through you having heightened emotions, mainly fear or lust, so we came up with a few suggestions along those lines. If I tell you now though then you won't be affected by them as strongly as if you weren't expecting them. You still want to know?"

I nodded without hesitating.

"Your parents suggested making you think that you or your family was in danger, putting you into a violent situation, giving you some very sad or infuriating news, or just finding you a boyfriend. Scaring or hurting you seems to be a bit more out of the loop now though, so it'll probably be one of the others."

I frown.

"My parents really said I should get a boyfriend?" I ask skeptically. Victor nodded.

"Me, _my_ parents?" I repeat, pointing at myself. "The people who wouldn't even let me play in the same sandbox as a boy when I was three?"

"Apparently."

"That's messed up. About as messed up as wanting to put me in a violent situation."

Victor shrugged.

"Well, it's that or letting you actually get hurt."

"I guess so."

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds. I was busy wondering which seemed like a more beneficial option to me and to be honest, I'd rather take a few hits than have to try and get a boyfriend. Then again, my family would probably be happier if I started dating; it sure would get Ronnie off of my back with the whole antisocial thing. Physical damage is a lot easier to heal than emotional damage though, that's for sure. I scratch the back of my head while I weigh the pros and cons, honestly not too sure what to do.

"You got any clue what choice to make?" Victor asks and I look up at him. I guess I could also ask for some advice on the matter.

"Not even a little bit." I sigh. Victor nods and gets up to sit next to me, kicking off his boots as he does so.

"Try not to stress, you've got plenty of time to figure it out. Hell," he grunted as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the chair, "it's probably best if you take a while before making up your mind." Victor turned at looked me over before settling on my eyes with an honest expression. "Just make sure you don't regret whatever decision you make."

Our eyes stayed connected until I nodded and shyly looked down at my hands. Then a thought just kind of randomly occurred to me and I looked back up at him, watching as he laid down and got comfortable on my bed.

"Wouldn't the whole lust thing get ruled out too? I mean, because of earlier?" I managed to ask without stuttering or blushing.

Victor snorted and put his hands behind his head with his legs crossed at the ankles, looking oh-so relaxed while I just sit there on the edge of my bed. I was half expecting him to grab the blankets and demand that I tuck him in.

"All we did was kiss, Shade."

I frown, not really getting what he was saying. "So?"

"So there's still a lot more to do to get your blood boilin'." He chuckles deep in his chest and peeks an eye open to look at me. "A _lot_ more."

So much for not blushing.

"Ah, I uh, I see." I cough awkwardly.

He sighs and pats the spot next to him, wanting me to lay down. I fidget a bit, looking around my room before getting comfortable next to Victor. Well, as comfortable as one can be near a trained assassin with at least a hundred years of knowledge up his sleeve. It's still hard to believe that all of this was going on; being a mutant, deciding to go live with some dangerous stranger, my parents plotting of ways to scare the mutation right out of me. And here I thought it would be a boring weekend.

"Hey Victor?" I ask. Victor grunts, letting me know he was listening. "My parents know who you are, right? They know that you're a murderer and stuff?"

Victor takes a deep breath in a sort of stressed out way, like he really doesn't want to talk about this.

"Your dad and I met in the army a few years back. That's why Ronnie and I started talking at the bar and why I was convinced to come and visit." He admits. I frown, but only because it put a lot of my day into perspective. Like, for example, why my parents would even consider letting me live with some random guy Ronnie met in a bar.

"But Dad acted like it was his first time meeting you." I say, turning my head to look up at him.

"The missions we went on together were top secret; nobody's supposed to know that we've worked together. Your mother doesn't know, so I suggest you not say anything in front of her."

"Oh, ok then. Mom doesn't know you're a murderer, but you and Dad fought together so he trusts you more than the average Jo." I summarize more for myself than for him. "So why is Mom alright with this then?"

Victor looks down at me with a grin.

"You want the truth?"

"I would prefer it more than the alternative, yeah."

"You're Mom's head is in the sky too much for her to consider the real dangers of this situation. If I didn't know better I would think she has morphine runnin' in her veins instead of blood. She mostly agreed to this, though, is because your father did."

She's like that with a lot of things. If Dad wants to get a motorcycle, she'll start looking for cool helmets to get. If Dad wants to drive to California just for fun, Mom will do the math on how much gas money they would need. If Dad jumped off of a cliff, Mom would jump right after him. We're lucky Dad doesn't make crazy suggestions like that, otherwise our lives would be chaos.

"She's still a good mom." I say quietly in defense. Victor looks down at me with a somber expression.

"Never said she wasn't."

"I remember what I was going to tell you." I say quietly over the voices on my TV screen.

I had decided to pop in a movie after a few minutes of awkward silence, hoping that Victor wouldn't mind watching it with me. We sat on my bed shoulder to shoulder against the wall with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn on my lap. Victor had fallen asleep a few times, but was now awake.

He raises an eyebrow as he looks down at me tiredly.

"What are you mumbling about?"

"Earlier, in the kitchen, I was going to tell you why I wanted to call you, but I had forgotten. I just now remembered what I wanted to say."

"And what was that?"

I thought about just saying "shove it" like I had hoped to do over the safety of a telephone, then thought about the repercussions of saying such a thing to a man like Victor Creed, and reconsidered.

"Well, I used to have to wear glasses." I say instead. "And I lost a lot of weight recently. Do you think maybe we won't have to do the whole…" I wiggled my fingers, not really sure what to call what we had discussed a few hours ago. "Thing?"

His eyes sweep over me in search of something and then go back to the images on the screen.

"We still need to do it, just to be safe."

"Oh. Ok." I say discouraged.


End file.
